


After the Mourning

by Knightsbridge07



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, RoyalShield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightsbridge07/pseuds/Knightsbridge07
Summary: Five years after Thanos' invasion, five years into Steve Rogers' "arrangement" with Wakanda's Queen Shuri, Steve begins to cast off the grief that threatens to envelop him. His eyes turn once again to the queen in the hope that she feels the same.





	1. The Remaining Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baby_bubastis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_bubastis/gifts), [wakandawinterprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandawinterprincess/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [TheRavynFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRavynFire/gifts), [SilverCherie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCherie/gifts), [Malaiikka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malaiikka/gifts), [CindersAndBrimstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CindersAndBrimstone/gifts), [misstoryunfolded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misstoryunfolded/gifts), [rachealina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachealina/gifts), [chizoma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chizoma/gifts), [lilithenaltum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithenaltum/gifts), [ShootingStar13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootingStar13/gifts), [crazyfan15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyfan15/gifts), [Cao_the_dreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cao_the_dreamer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [insatiable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201840) by [wakandawinterprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandawinterprincess/pseuds/wakandawinterprincess). 



Steve couldn't pinpoint the moment when he started to come back online, so to speak. His emotions and his body began to crave **_life_** again.

 

He'd been in Wakanda since the fallout from the Sokovia Accords, and though he commented occasionally on the country's lush beauty, he'd never really taken time to appreciate the surroundings. Steve's life in the past few years had been consumed with meetings and missions, with figuring out who he was sans the shield and the other half of the Avengers.

 

In the aftermath of Thanos' invasion, there is a palpable change in the world's rhythm...eerie quiet, nights that seem to stretch beyond the time allotted by the seasons, a new balance to life. Fewer people, fewer animals, and less of everything. Most folks don't _like it_ , of course, but they accept it. They work within the new paradigm.

 

They try to move on.

 

Steve decided he would do the same. After his early-morning workout and a light breakfast, he returns to his room to shower. Barefoot with still-damp hair, he slips on a t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants then takes a sketchpad and colored pencils from the top shelf of his closet. He blew a bit of dust off the items as he made his way to the patio balcony adjoining his room. He sat down with the pad on his propped up legs.

 

The sunrise chased the last bands of deep orange and purple from the horizon. Below him, the palace courtyard had come to life with staff scurrying about and giving and receiving orders. Flowers and deep green topiaries decorated the space, making a haven for birds and butterflies. Bit by bit, color was returning to the world. Life was indeed finding a way.

 

Steve began to draw. The world around him receded further and further with each pencil stroke, with every shade and smudge. His hands moved furiously, turning out one sketch after the next. The more he created, the harder he exhaled, the more tears flowed. Later on, when he could find the words to articulate it, he would say that everything was falling off him—all the emotions that were too great even for _his_ broad shoulders—the fear, fatigue, anger, sadness, and despondency. He had no place for them anymore.

 

When he stopped for a break, it was well past noon. His rumbling stomach demanded food, but he took a long look at everything in the sketchpad, slowly turning the pages. A ragged breath escaped him when he got to a drawing of Queen Shuri. It was… _alive_. Brown eyes peering at him and beaded braids flowing past dark, delicate, bare shoulders like a curtain, a slender hand resting on one side of her neck. She’s surrounded by big, verdant leaves and bright flowers.

 

That's how he imagines her when they're under cover of darkness and he's secretly hammering her from behind. Steve understands the parameters of their illicit involvement. In his mind, however, what they have is pure and precious. There are no dark corners or whispering staffers. She waits for him in the sun and kisses him in the garden...they love freely.

 

The image branded itself onto his mind, so much so that he believed he could do it again blindfolded. 

 

Steve recalled that he and the queen had an arrangement. The rules were simple. They sated each other’s physical yearnings, then carried on business as usual. Neither party was under duress, and there were no illusions about commitment. It was a symbiotic relationship that aided them both in their respective survival. Self-centered, lecherous Steve could handle that, but self-centered, lecherous Steve was no match for morally upright, honorable Steve. Morally upright, honorable Steve was one determined sumbitch who didn’t know the meaning of the word surrender. Morally upright, honorable Steve was winning the battle for the captain’s heart and mind, returning him to that pedestal from which he’d furtively climbed down when the world was preoccupied with its grief and suffering.

 

He finally realized that he was tired of “the arrangement.”

 

The captain knew he had no right to change things. The options had been to accept things as stated or to walk away. They had agreed to it, shook on it. Steve Rogers was nothing, if not true to his word (well, Tony Stark might object to that sentiment, but that was neither here nor there, was it?).

 

But something in his heart and mind had shifted, moved away from doing only what was necessary to survive another day. It was then that his mind became clouded with weighty questions that traversed into dangerous territory.

 

Was he wrong to want more of her, **_all_** of her? Was it so bad that he’d outgrown this clandestine meet-up? Why couldn’t he undress her slowly rather than rip her clothes in the heat of desire or stay in her bed and have her rest on his shoulder instead of throwing on his pants and tiptoeing back to his quarters? Wasn’t it better to playfully pepper each other’s bodies with kisses rather than go at it like they were trying to eat each other alive? He wanted to openly admire her and hold her hand in the presence of her countrymen. In essence, they were his countrymen, too, being that he’d given his allegiance to the Wakandan throne and its people. Shuri herself had said it at the very beginning: _I am your queen_.

 

Project Decima had been terminated by her own decree. Though Shuri mourned the loss of her people, her dear brother, and the man she loved, the young queen’s greatest hurt seemed to stem from her failure. She lashed herself emotionally as penance for not being able to save those Thanos had killed. Many nights when Steve held her, she tortured herself with an endless barrage of _what ifs_ and _should haves_.

 

_What if I’d changed that formula?_

_I should have retooled that circuit panel._

 

What Jane Foster, Tony Stark, and Bruce Banner couldn’t do, she believed she should have accomplished with ease. Steve could not bring himself to tell her that even _she_ had to fail sometimes, and that dwelling on that failure only made it worse.

 

All he could think now, though, is that it was time to be done with mourning. It was time to look ahead. The shroud of grief was too heavy a burden, and she had to lay it down—for everyone’s sake. This was their world now, and Steve wanted to let go and heal. Time waited for no man, and it certainly didn’t rewind and allow you to undo the past. All that remained now was living, and he wanted to do all the living he could with her.

 

Steve knows…he’s in love with Shuri.

 

His focus turns once more to the horizon as a gentle breeze whispers across his face, and a knock at the door calls him back from his daydream.

 

"Come in," Steve says.


	2. Whatever Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The queen and the captain reveal intimate truths as they try to figure out a way forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For baby_bubastis, wakandawinterprincess, yellowsuns, Oopswakanda, TheRavynFire, SilverCherie, Leodicaprih0e, CindersAndBrimstone, misstoryunfolded, rachealina, chizoma, lilithenaltum, ShootingStar13, crazyfan15, Cao_the_dreamer.  
> Inspired by insatiable by wakandawinterprincess

Steve turns his head to see Queen Shuri in one of her less-than-royal outfits—faded, ripped jeans and a midriff-baring Notorious B.I.G. t-shirt. Her braids were gathered into a big top knot, and it left exposed her bare face. Steve placed his sketchpad on the table and stood to greet her with the Wakandan sign.

 

“At ease, captain,” Shuri said before he could finish bowing.

 

His fingers tapped nervously at his sides. “Forgive my state, your majesty. I-I should at least be wearing something more”—his eyes darted from one side to the other—“more.”

 

“It’s perfectly all right, Steve. I see we’re both having a lazy Saturday.”

 

“Yeah,” he exhaled in relief. “Um, would you like to have a seat?”

 

She nodded and walked with him onto the patio and sat in the chair opposite him.

 

Steve took a long glance at her as she stared out over the courtyard. It was now less busy. Still, he was glad that the balcony itself couldn’t be viewed from below. Shuri crossed her legs, and he noticed the plastic Nike slippers on her pedicured feet. She let the one on the elevated foot dangle from her toe. She sighed and turned to look right at him.

 

“The staff tells me they didn’t see you at lunch today. Are you unwell, Steve?”

 

He gave her a slight smile. “Yeah, I uh, I’m fine…better than I’ve been in a while, I think. Clearer, anyway.”

 

Shuri nods, then she looks down at his sketchbook. She leans forward to examine the drawing of Warrior Falls, and her eyebrows rise in curiosity. “May I?” she asks picking up the pad.

 

“Sure.”

 

He watches as she turns slowly through the book, admiring details and commenting on color.

 

“You drew all these?”

 

“Yeah. I had a little time on my hands, and it, um, it helps me think.”

 

“They’re lovely. We’ve known each other a while now. Why did you never tell me you were an artist?” she asks with a curious lilt in her voice.

 

“There was never really a right time to discuss it. The world was either burning down around us, or we were doing whatever we could to live through it.”

 

Steve looks more intently at her this time. He can tell she’s arrived at the sketch of herself, and he’s holding his breath, wondering if he’ll have to explain himself.

 

“This…this is me.”

 

Steve errs on the side of caution. “I’m sorry, your majesty, if it’s inappropriate. I can shred it.”

 

Shuri huffs a light laugh. “You do a lot of needless apologizing, captain. You'll not harm these beautiful works of art.”

 

He lets out a relieved titter of his own. “If that’s what you’d prefer,” Steve says and runs a hand through his hair.

 

A cool silence settles between them as they watch the scenery. The courtyard begins to go still as the sun makes it descent. Brilliant orange and gold soon give way to velvety blue, then black, and the stars soon dot the sky. Below, the crickets pierce the quiet while a light wind ruffles her top just a bit.

 

He waits.

 

Shuri then rises up from her seat—well before he can be a gentleman and rise along with her—and she stands in front of him.

 

“May I?”

 

Steve reaches his hand up to take hers, and he pulls her onto his lap, adjusts so that they're both comfortable. Her top knot tickles his cheek as she rests her head in the crook of his neck. Shuri has let her slippers slide off her feet. He squeezes her just a bit then presses a kiss to her forehead.

 

He realizes that they’ve never been like this—at least not with their clothes on. If any average person outside of Wakanda were to observe them, they would simply think they were a young couple cuddling together. He can feel her breathing and her hand resting against his chest. Her long lashes are ghosting across his neck. She smells so good, like vanilla and cocoa butter and the spicy oil she uses in her hair. His super hearing notes her resting heart rate.

 

“I spent much of the day in my lab,” she says softly. “The cryofreeze chamber that held him, I stared at it for a long time. It was there that he first started to reclaim his life. I just laid down on the floor in front of it, and I cried, Steve. I wailed and moaned until I was empty. For a while, I was too tired to do anything, I was too drained to even think.”

 

Steve doesn’t move, except to press his temple to her forehead. He remains quiet.

 

“Half of everyone and everything is gone, yet we have no graves or markers, nothing solid to tell us we have to press on, to note an ending. Where do we lay flowers, Steve? Where do we go to memorialize them?”

 

A tear slides down his cheek as he answers with a trembling voice. “We’ll _never_ have those things, Shuri, not for them. All we’ll have is memories.”

 

It’s the best answer he can provide—the only one there is. There were no platitudes that could ease their loss and emptiness. The only thing to do was the hardest thing—that was to live. Steve thought back to the Avengers’ battle against Ultron. He remembered what he’d said into the comm link: _If you get killed, walk it off_. He is disgusted when he thinks of how flip he had been then.

 

“I’m an adult, so I'm fully aware of these things. I know there are no tangible reminders. It just feels sooo unfair, Steve. We can’t go to any designated burial sites and say T’Challa is here, or James is there, or Sam is near that tree on that hilltop, or Wanda is buried in a field by this village. What do I with that? I don’t know how to live with it.”

 

Her breaths come hot and heavy against his neck, and he rubs her back, draws her closer to calm her. Soon he can feel her breathing even out once more.

 

“We’ve _been_ living with it, Shuri. We just needed to look it in the face, I guess…the hurt. That’s what we have to do, _keep_ living. If we’re gonna do that with any success, we have to-to…w-we gotta cut it off, stop letting the pain drag us down. It’s not something you _know_ how to do, you just do it…like breathing. There’s no plan for that, it’s just a decision and an action. You put one foot in front of the other and walk.”

 

She pushes her small body ever closer to him.

 

“Shuri, you’re a brilliant woman. You did everything you possibly could—you and Tony and Jane and Bruce. No sane person is ever gonna say you didn’t do enough, not while _I’m_ around.”

 

And for the first time in ages, they share a real, heartfelt belly laugh. Steve feels her smile against his neck.

 

“Thank you for that,” she says.

 

“Anytime.”

 

“Steve?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I have something else I need to tell you.” She raises her head and pulls back slightly to look into his eyes.

 

Hers are brown and earnest and honest as ever, and he wonders if anyone else has seen the depths of her heart in them. Steve sees it now.

 

“I wanted to apologize to you.”

 

He raises a brow. “Apologize for what?”

 

“For using you, using you for sex when I couldn’t deal with my emotions or the stress of ruling Wakanda and working to bring back Thanos’ victims. It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.”

 

“Shuri,” he huffs as though he wants to laugh and cry. “Shuri, you didn’t _use_ me. We both agreed to do what we were doing. We did it because we were lost and struggling. If anything, I should be apologizing to _you_. I mean, I get that you’re a genius and a queen, and there was a power dynamic at play, but I’m older and supposedly wiser. I’ve seen more than you have, experienced more. I should’ve been the one to recognize the boundaries and protect _you_.”

 

“Still, I should’ve understood that giving in to lust wasn’t going to help. You’re my friend, and I put our friendship in jeopardy. I acted like a complete fool in front of the whole country.”

 

“Tell ya what. We’re both sorry, and we were both wrong. Shuri, I’m still your friend, and you’re not a fool,” he swallows audibly, “I’m not gonna abandon you.”

 

Steve runs his finger over the gelled baby hairs that frame her face. She doesn’t move, just looks unmoving into his eyes.

 

They breathe each other’s names at the same time.

 

“You first,” Shuri says.

 

“Right, me first. You said earlier that you spent a big part of the day in  your lab, and you cried until you were empty.”

 

“True.”

 

“Well, that’s part of what I was doing with my sketchbook. I’ve also spent a lot of time crying, and I spent nights screaming into my pillow. Then in the morning, I would jump right back into the grind. Suddenly, one night, I didn’t cry or scream. I was all out of tears, and I needed something else. There was no choice but to find something more to fulfill me. It’s not that I don’t hurt for what we’ve lost, it’s that I’m still here, and I need to…to try to make something new. Our…arrangement was about survival. We were leaning on each other to get through because our pain was tied to the loss of some of the same people. Then I thought, there’s more to this, or there _can_ be…if you want. We have more than pain and wounds between us, Shuri. We can do more than survive.”

 

Shuri blinks and the corners of her mouth curl upward just a bit. “I want more than survival, too. I know that much. But you…”

 

The _but_ stabs him in the heart as he wipes a tear from her cheek. “Go on. But?”

 

“Every time we were together, you left pieces of yourself with me. I tried to stick with the rules we’d established, but it was getting hard to do that.” She licked her lips. “You don’t have sex like a man who just comes and goes like it doesn’t matter. And you made me care. You made me miss you, Steve Rogers, and I felt I didn’t need one more person to miss. There were so many nights I wanted you to stay, but I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t think I _should_ say it.”

 

“I would’ve stayed. I want that now.”

 

“Me, too,” she says. “I wanna go to bed…with you…here in your room.”

 

Steve scans her face for any sign of hesitation or doubt. “And you’re sure about that?”

 

She pointedly nods in the affirmative.

 

“Words, Shuri… _say_ it,” he admonishes.

 

“I’m sure, yes.”

 

“What about—”

 

“I don’t care if the staff sees me,” she says. “I wanna go to bed with you.”

 

He blinks. “Okay. All right, then, we’ll go to bed. That’s all we’re gonna do right now, just sleep. We’re both tired and emotionally spent.”

 

“But—”

 

“We’re not in the right head space for sex. So, we need to rest. You need to think through everything we’ve said tonight. You may feel differently in the morning, and I want you to have the chance to walk away clean if you do. If I open my eyes tomorrow, and you’re still lying next to me or you’ve left, you’ll have made your decision, and I will accept that decision. But whatever happens, we go forward and we don’t look back. Can we do that, Shuri?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Great. Come on,” he says and pats her thigh so that she’ll move off his lap.

 

He takes her hand and leads her into the darkened bedroom where the only light is the moon shining through the open patio doors. Steve pulls back the covers as Shuri strips off her jeans and tosses them onto a chaise. He then peels off his shirt, balls it up, and throws it aside. He lets her crawl into bed first, and he follows.

 

For a few quiet minutes, they stare longingly at each other over the canyon of space between them. Shuri places her small hand on the empty pillow between them, and Steve reaches out to squeeze it. The simple gesture serves as a “good night.” He draws back his hand, and his eyes drift shut. Shuri soon follows.


	3. Wee, Small Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve hopes to awaken to a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for baby_bubastis, wakandawinterprincess, yellowsuns, Oopswakanda, TheRavynFire, SilverCherie, Leodicaprih0e, CindersAndBrimstone, misstoryunfolded, rachealina, chizoma, lilithenaltum, ShootingStar13, crazyfan15, Cao_the_dreamer 
> 
> Feel free to comment and critique. 
> 
> Just a little side note, I also added a new chapter to THE WEIGHT OF BREVITY.
> 
> Big thanks to all of you

The night had passed in a hazy dreamlessness. Steve felt his body twitching awake bit by bit. When he opened his eyes, he was facing the door leading out of his room, not the person with whom he’d shared his bed the previous night.

 

The sun hadn’t yet crept over the treetops of the distant jungle, but the grey dawn had filled the room, telling him it was time to get on with his routine—and his life. Once the captain mustered the courage to look to the other side of his bed, he’d be able to do that.

 

He rubbed the crust from his eyes and the edges of his mouth. He turned his head, and there next to him was indeed an empty spot. Steve’s heart sank into his stomach, and he took a moment to try and collect himself.

 

So, that was it. Shuri had taken his offered escape hatch and decided they couldn’t be anything more than what they were. Steve could blame only himself. He’d given her the option to walk away if she thought it best. He’d said he would accept her decision whatever it was. They’d still be friends and he’d stand by her.

 

Shuri was young and tasked with the consequential responsibility of leading a nation. Maybe she didn’t need the added pressure of a long-term romance—certainly not one with yet another colonizer. Her previous life as a carefree princess had shielded her somewhat from the Wakandan public’s criticism. In their minds at the time, she was a young woman with the world at her feet and little in the way of responsibility. Thus, her budding romance with the White Wolf Sgt. Barnes was viewed as a mere youthful tryst, an adventure in flouting tradition and testing the patience of her family and the tribal elders’ council. Now that she was queen and unable to simply do as she wished, Steve couldn’t exactly hold her choice against her.

 

Still, though, that didn’t stop the tears that sprung to the corners of his eyes. That didn’t mean he was ready to act as if his crushed hope was no problem at all. He would need some time to breathe.

 

The faucet in his bathroom comes on, and his eyes pop open once again. Steve sits up as Shuri emerges from it dabbing her face with a wet cloth.

 

“Good morning, captain,” she says and sits on the edge of the bed next to him.

 

Steve cannot speak. If he’s losing his mind, he’ll let it go.

 

“What’s wrong, Steve, cat got your tongue?” and she breaks forth with a boisterous guffaw that causes her top knot to unwind and her braids cascade around her face. “Gave you a bit of a fright, huh, old man?”

 

“Yeah, you did,” he smiles.

 

Shuri kisses his cheek and his forehead. “My apologies. I just _had_ to use the bathroom, and I wouldn’t want the first thing you experience in the morning being dragon breath and eye crumbs. Hope you don’t mind, I used your mouthwash and one of your towels.”

 

“Does this mean what I think it means?” His fingers are walking slowly up her sides. “We’re gonna go for it?”

 

“Yes, Steve, we’re gonna go for it,” she says. “But not before you wash and rinse.”

 

He laughs as she leaps over him and onto the other side of the bed. She wriggles out of the midriff top and lacy underwear and tosses them onto the chaise with her jeans.

 

“Well, go on. I’ll be right here.”

 

Steve makes quick work of it with a short gargle of his blue Listerine and a warm cloth over his face and neck. He returns to the bed to find her resting on her stomach with her arms folded underneath her head. He removes his sweat pants and crawls in beside her. Shuri flashes him a teasing smile and moves to position her back to him.

 

“No. We don’t have to do that now,” Steve says pulling away. He places his hand on her cheek, moves a stray braid off her face.

 

“How do you want to do it? You’ve something new in mind?”

 

“Just let me look at you, Shuri…truly look you in the eyes.”

 

“What are you hoping to see?”

 

Steve takes a deep breath and blows its peppermint freshness into her face, which makes her giggle. He answers after a thoughtful silence.

 

“All the things I never took time to notice…when we were fighting to live. Like the fact that the dimple on the right side of your face is deeper than the one on the left. Or that you have a little scar on your nose. Your right eyebrow flattens into a straight line when you’re mad.”

 

Shuri blinks back tears. The sheer power of his admission moves her heart in a way she never expected possible. She realized that they’d all been living in a blur for the last five years. She had never even stopped to notice those things for herself. “Steve, why do you think I never said anything about the way we had sex?”

 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs.

 

“I think you do,” she says and wiggles closer to him.  

 

Steve moves just slightly to rest his forearm against his head. His free hand is stroking her hand, which she’s placed over his heart.

 

“If I held you too tight, you’d break. If I didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d turn to dust—like the others did. It was ridiculous of me to think that, but that was my fear—losing you and never knowing if I did the right thing, too much or not enough. We were surrounded by terror and ugliness, and you were the only beauty remaining in the world, the only good thing I had left.”

 

“I thought if I didn’t look at you, it wouldn’t feel like I was replacing him.”

 

“He’s gone…I’ve made my peace with that, with all of it.” Steve rolls on his side to turn once again to her. She places her fingers to his lips, and his eyes drift shut.

 

“We said last night that we’d go forward and not look back. We’re still here. Those were your words to me, Steve Rogers. You and I, we’ve made a new thing. You can hold me tight and I won’t break. I promise.”

 

He kisses her fingertips and draws her against his body until she’s fitted to him like a puzzle piece. Steve holds her, feels every inch of her skin on his skin, and the warmth of her banishes any lingering fears and doubts. Her nails are gently scratching his beard and her lashes are brushing against his Adam’s apple.

 

They sleep late into the day.


End file.
